


Bright Lights

by thechickadee



Category: Saturday Night Live RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechickadee/pseuds/thechickadee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I love Seth/Amy with all my heart. And i just couldn't resist the cheesy metaphors, so bear through them. and this story is dedicated to ABI!!!!!<br/>The end is a fictional late night, since this was written before it started</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Lights

The lights used to be brighter; the lights in the studio, the lights on stage, the light in their eyes. They used to shine with a light of their own, a certain glowing pride that came from being young and almost maybe famous.

Amy sighs. Alone, in her kitchen. Her empty kitchen with dim lights. Sometimes, she closes her eyes and just drifts. Back to when she was young, and back to when the lights were brand new. 

Back to those first weeks, fighting to write a winner. Fighting to stake their claim among the real stars. They fought together, kept each other going, because together, they were invincible.  
She drifts to staying in the offices until late--until ridiculous hours of the morning-- because they promised they would stay until they were both done. She remembers him suggesting that deal, and she remembers thinking it was a dumb idea. And she remembers agreeing anyway because she could never say no to him when his eyes sparkled with hope and laughter like they always did.  
She can see the day they met, as early as ever, Seth trembling slightly in a skinny tie and a jacket that was way too big for him. She walked up to him and he said, "Please tell me I'm actually on SNL and not in some wonderfully cruel dream." Then he blushed and looked down, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as if he had just realized he said that out loud.  
And just like that, she fell a little bit in love with him. 

But it was never that simple, was it?

She smiled wistfully and slides to the kitchen floor, leaning against an expensive, unused cabinet. Her thoughts always take her far away, and she knows it isn't healthy to examine every point in time, but how can she not? It's all she can hold on to now.

Days and nights and weeks and months flash before her eyes, like they're happening all over again. Days where they wrote jokes for hours, nights where they blew off working and got drunk instead. The night where they wrote and wrote until three in the morning when they fell asleep on her office couch, facing each other, in a secret embrace. She couldn't admit it for a long time, but that was the best night's sleep she'd ever had, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

She feels the all-too-familiar twisting of her heart, and this time, she's tired of resisting the tug of tears behind her eyes. She has shed so many tears thinking about what is and what could have been; her reasoning is always that a few more tears can't hurt. It's the sick feeling of helplessness that has been living inside her for who knows how long. It makes itself known every day, the very weight that pulls her to the floor and keeps her from drifting too far away.

The first time he brought "them" up, she got scared. She avoided. It was what she was good at. They were at a cheap, deserted bar on a Saturday night, their lame attempt to keep the after party alive. Their hands were on the counter, their pinkies overlapping, and he asked her, "What are we doing, Amy?" But she avoided, because that's what she always did.  
"We're drinking, Seth. It's really quite common, you know."  
He smiled and looked away, but she wasn't blind; she couldn't miss the disappointment in his eyes. But sometimes it was too real, to close to being a thing, and she had to try and avoid it. 

She pours herself a glass of wine an returns to her spot on the kitchen floor, the cold, white tiles anchoring her to her painful consciousness. She looks like the very definition of depression, and yeah it's only six, but Will took the kids to Tahoe and she can do whatever the hell she wants. And when what she wants is too big for her to have, she settles for wishing and remembering. Remembering the twinkling eyes and deep dimples, and the days when the light was blinding.  
She figures she'll just go crazy one day if she keeps analyzing every moment they spent together. But she has to, because if she can find anything that proves that they never could have been together, regardless of what--or who--she chose, she can find a little solace in her misery.  
She always stops short of finding that one thing, though. Because deep down, she knows that it really had been up to her. That's why it kills her: she didn't just screw it up for herself, she screwed it up for him, too.  
Her mind grasps on to one night, years ago, the memory always unrealistically vivid in her mind. It's a curse and a blessing; she's forced to relive that moment night after night.

It was cold outside, not unusual for a night in November. She remembers Tina asking, "What's it like out there?" And she remembers replying, "Unmagical." It wasn't snowing yet, but sheets of ice still covered cars and bit your fingertips if you stayed outside too long. The skies were grey during the day and pitch black at night, and people were generally in a bad mood.  
It was a particularly tough week, writing wise. The jokes just weren't coming; nobody felt like laughing. She and Seth stayed in her office, because it was Wednesday night and the script was supposed to be done by Thursday.  
She was wearing his green sweatshirt, the sleeves falling past her hands and the bottom coming to mid-thigh. He had left it in her car and she had triumphantly drawn on the 'finders keepers' rule.  
It smelled so good, like peppermint and cinnamon and warmth and...Seth.  
It had been a rough week for her in other ways, too. Will had been really on edge for the last few days, and something had finally set him off the day before. She had gone to bed angry and had gotten no sleep.  
It was warm in her office, Heater on full blast. She was laying on the couch with her empty notebook, listening with half an ear to Seth pitching ideas at her desk. She was emotionally and physically exhausted, and the sweatshirt was so warm, and Seth's voice was so steady....  
When she woke up, it was midnight. She knew because Seth's watch was beeping and when she looked at him, he looked back at her with a raised eyebrow, amusement etched into his features.  
"I was tired, ok?" she said to him, running her hand through her messy hair and yawning loudly. When he didn't move, she said, "Will and I had a fight last night."  
Seth studied her carefully. He always looked at her like she was some expensive shoe; adoringly but apprehensively.  
"You ok?" he finally asked, apparently having decided to take his chances. He was really the only one who knew how things were really going with Will, and Amy was glad knowing he was there if she needed to talk. She knew she wasn't the most open person when it came to her feelings.  
"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, a little too casually. She knew her brave face didn't fool Seth, and that scared her. It was the layer closest to her, and only he could see right through it.  
She turned to the mirror and was met with a tired face, sad and worn, smudged with internal conflict and mascara.

She remembers that night for so many reasons. She remembers looking in the mirror and realizing that at some point, she stopped being the newbie and started to call this place her home. She knew she wasn't just a lost, hopeful kid anymore. It was the moment she grew up.  
And she hates it with all her heart.

"What did you fight about?" Seth asked.  
Her thoughts tumbled and crashed into each other violently as she stood in front of the mirror, recalling all the words that had been shouted.  
"Nothing," she said. "Everything, I don't know." Her throat felt tight, but she kept going. "It just isn't the same anymore. I don't think we're in love." She finished in a whisper, turning slightly so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. She wiped them away quickly, her mascara smearing even more.  
And this is where time slowed down.  
One second he was at her desk, and the next, he was in front of her, holding her in his arms. And the next thing she knew, she was kissing him. It was possibly the worst she'd ever looked, her face smeared with mascara, her hair messy from sleep, her tiny frame swallowed by the huge sweatshirt. But something had just...clicked.  
He tasted like winter and sweet laughter and she never wanted to let him go. 

Effortlessly, she remembers every detail, every sound and smell a distinct memory of its own. 

The ticking of the clock, the smell of peppermint and cinnamon clouding her senses, his hand on her back, the other cradling her head gently.  
Then her phone rang, piercing the air and ripping them apart faster than they could blink. They just stared at it and tried to quiet their loud breathing. Besides the harsh ringing, it was still and silent, and Amy could almost hear her heartbeats reverberate off the walls.  
Finally, she picked up the phone.  
It was Will.  
He apologized, told her he loved her, and asked her to come home.  
She said "okay" and hung up.

She can't forget, as hard as she tries, to forget the look on Seth's face when she said she had to go. It was as if she had ripped out his heart and squeezed it with all her strength. But what else could she have done? She repeated it over and over in her head.  
I had no choice. I had no choice. I had no choice.  
But as always, the doubt creeps back to the front her mind.  
What if she hadn’t picked up the phone? Would things be different? Would she be sitting on her kitchen floor, crying?  
She feels nauseous. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the crying, or maybe because she always feels like this when she thinks of him.  
Maybe it’s all three. 

She remembers the day she told Seth she was pregnant, heart hammering in her chest. It was two weeks after they kissed. He was silent for a full three seconds, then snapped out of it and hugged her tightly.  
“I’m so happy for you, Poehls,” he had whispered, and she had almost melted with relief.  
Then, things changed again. Every tine he smiled at her, his eyes held a weight she couldn’t quite understand. He would do most of the Update work, and when she teased him or challenged him, he would just laugh half-heartedly and look down. It threw her off completely. It was almost as if he had given up on something.  
When she finally got it out of him eight months later, it was because he was drunk and it was late and she kept bringing it up.  
She will never forget the words he said to her. They pierced her heart like shards of glass, and she never really got the pieces out.  
Slamming his glass on the bar, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Amy, I’m really, really happy for you. I am. And I’m going to love your baby as much as I do you. But…But every time I see you, it’s a reminder that someone else got what I could never have. And I’m realizing that I never really had a chance, did I? I was wasting my fucking time. You’re never going to love me as much as—“  
His brain finally caught up to him and he shut up, turning back to his drink. His words were left hanging in the air like heavy fog, trying to choke them.  
Amy’s heart raced, and her fingers hurt from grasping the edge of her chair too hard. What was he going to say? As much as she loved Will? As much as he loved her?  
She wanted to shout at him to make him understand, but she couldn’t. She was scared that her crazy hormones would say something she would regret later. She wanted to tell him that she did love him. That she always had, and always would, but that life just didn’t work out that way; but then she thought that would maybe be the worst thing she’d ever said to him, so she didn’t. The words stayed stuck in her throat.  
Then, a wave of anger hit her without warning. He was being selfish, telling her this when she was almost nine months pregnant. Did he think this was all a cakewalk for her?  
“Are you fucking kidding me, Seth?” she said in a shaky voice, vibrating with anger. “You think your life is confusing? Well, grow the hell up. I am having a child, Seth. What am I supposed to do? Tell me. Do you think I want to be this confused? I don’t know what I am doing, ok? And you’re supposed to be the one person I can lean on right now.”  
He glanced at her, and she was startled. His eyes were hard and grey, like steel, holding the most bitterness she had ever seen in him.  
“I have a girlfriend. Lean on your husband. Not me.”  
His words were a punch to the gut, and she was shocked into silence.  
“Fine,” she said finally, standing up, her voice too quiet, too broken. “And you know what? I’m sorry if I caused you emotional conflict, because clearly,” she paused, filled with hatred for the tears welling up in her eyes as she rested a hand on her belly. “Clearly, I do not have enough of that in my life right now.”

Usually, she doesn’t dive this deep into her memories, but she can’t help it tonight; tonight is Seth’s first Late Night show. She was supposed to be the guest, but then Parks and Recreation promos were scheduled on the same night, so she ducked out and was replaced by Sandra Bullock. Then the promos were rescheduled, so here she is on her kitchen floor, crying into a glass of wine. She gets up and moves to her couch, switching on the TV. There’s still half an hour until it starts, so she pulls out her phone, and only hesitates for a second before texting Seth.  
‘Go get’ em, Meyers’, she types. She only has to wait thirty seconds for a reply.  
‘You know I will. By the way, I’d take you over Bullock any day, Poehl-cats. ;)’  
She smiles. He always makes her smile.  
‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ she responds, ‘and get your ass onstage. I’m watching, so don’t screw up.’  
Pausing, she sends him one more message. ‘Good luck, Seth. You’ll be great.’  
Her phone rings, and her heart does a somersault. But it’s not him. It’s Tina. She picks up, trying hard not to sound like she’s been crying all day.  
“Tough day?” asks Tina.  
Damn it. How did she know?  
“Because I know you,” says Tina.  
“How long have you been able to read my thoughts?” Amy says incredulously.  
“Like I said,” Tina replies. “I know you. You need some company?”  
Amy smiles. “No thanks, T. I’ll be fine.”  
“Good, because I’m already in bed with the TV on and I’m not leaving for you.”  
“Fuck you,” laughs Amy, feeling better already. There’s a comfortable silence, then Tina says, “Were you thinking about Seth?”  
Amy could lie. She could say she was crying over Will.  
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I was.”  
She can almost see Tina’s face, filled with wisdom or knowledge, like there’s something obvious Amy’s missing.  
“Stop looking at me like that,” says Amy. She hears a laugh on the other end.  
“This mind-reading thing works both ways, huh?” A pause, then, “Amy, listen. I’m going to tell you something I didn’t before. You didn’t need to know then, and I didn’t want to get involved, so I just kept it to myself, and…just promise you’ll listen very carefully because this is the only time I’m going to tell you.”  
Amy swallows. That heavy feeling is back in her legs.  
“Okay,” she says, nervous.  
Tina clears her throat. “Do you remember how I came back for your last show?  
“Of course!” says Amy. She remembers everything about that day.  
“Well, that Saturday afternoon, Lorne wanted to talk to Seth about something so he asked me to go find him, and I was going to the writers’ room anyway, so I said yes. And when I got there, I found him asleep on the couch. And I guess that’s when I realized how heartbroken he was that you were leaving.”  
Amy frowns. “But we talked that day. I mean, he was sad, but he wasn’t—“  
“He was talking in his sleep, Amy. And I just…understood things a lot better after that.”  
Amy breathes deeply, trying to stay steady, even though her head feels light. “What did he say?”  
“Listen, Amy,” says Tina softly. “If I tell you this, I don’t know if this will help you or hurt you, and…there’s no going back.”  
“I need to know, Tina.”  
“Okay,” says Tina, taking a deep breath. “He was really restless, and his breathing was ragged, like he was having a nightmare, and I was about to wake him up, but then he said, ‘Amy, please don’t leave.’ And I thought I heard wrong, but I looked at his face and he…he was in so much pain, on the verge of tears. And then he kept repeating, ‘Don’t leave me. I love you. I love you…please don’t leave.”  
Amy can’t breathe. If she had been standing, she would have had to sit down. She’s pretty sure this is what getting shot in the heart feels like. Faint, dizzy, weak, nauseous.  
“Tina,” she whispers, gripping her phone so hard her knuckles turn white. “My last show was….I mean, wasn’t he…” She swallowed. “He had already been dating Alexi for…for a whole year before I left.”  
“I know,” says Tina quietly, as if she has already worked this out countless times. “And that’s why I left the room and told Lorne I couldn’t find him.”  
Amy’s mind spins, and pieces click together in her mind. “That day. He was late to run-throughs. Like, really late.”  
“Yeah,” says Tina softly.  
Amy feels like the remains of a building after a hurricane. “Why did you tell me this now?” she asks, whispering again, not trusting her voice.  
“Because,” sighs Tina. “I know how much you think about it… whatever ‘it’ is. And this proves that it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, Amy. You couldn’t have changed things; he was going through the same thing you were, and he was always going to end up with Alexi. Deep down, you know that. Trust me, there are no ‘what-ifs’.  
Amy is crying now, because Tina is making so much sense and the truth hurts like she knew it would, but it’s the one missing moment she’s been searching for, and she feels a hundred pounds lighter, and how come Tina is always so smart all the time?  
Tina hears Amy’s quiet sobs and pauses. “Amy.”  
“Yeah?” she whispers.  
“I know this sounds like complete bullshit, and I really have no right to tell you this, but I promise you that things will work out. I’m not saying it’s gonna work out exactly how you want it to, but in the end, you will be happy. You always are. Things will be better.”  
“Thank you, Tina.” Says Amy, genuinely. “And one more thing.”  
“Shoot.”  
Amy closes her eyes. “That day, what was he wearing?”  
“Hmmmm…jeans, and his green sweatshirt, I think. Why?” asks Tina, curious.  
“Green…” Amy whispers to herself.  
“Yeah, you know that green ‘recycle’ hoodie he always wore?  
Amy smiles slightly. “Yeah, I know the one.”  
“Okay, well it’s about to start.”  
“Thanks, T. Really,” whispers Amy again.  
“Sweet dreams, Squirrel,” she says, and hangs up.  
Amy turns on the TV again with shaking hands, and is met with Seth’s smiling face. She can see lines around his eyes and he doesn’t quite look twenty-five any more. She figures, at some point, he grew up, too.  
She stares at him on the screen, barely listening to what he’s saying, because all she can hear is “”You’re never going to love me as much as—“ and “don’t leave me,” and “I love you,” over and over again in her head.  
“I do love you,” she says out loud, her voice too shaky, too weak. But she keeps going. “I loved you then, and I’ll love you in ten years.”  
On the screen, somebody says something that’s supposed to be funny, and Seth laughs. But his laugh is too normal, too expected. It’s the laugh he uses when something is just funny. And to everyone else in the world, that’s normal.  
But she misses his old laugh. His laugh where his shoulders would shake and his cheeks would stretch into wide dimples, where he would try hard to contain himself, but the laughter would come bubbling out anyway. The laugh where his eyes would dance and reflect the excitement of a little kid.  
She wanted that carefree kid back, not the adult on the screen with the contained laughter and guarded eyes and guarded heart.  
“I’m sorry, Seth,” she says out loud, her voice breaking. “”I’m sorry I left you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”  
She trails off slowly as sleep takes a hold of her. She can almost smell peppermint and cinnamon surrounding her and she smiles, feeling warm and almost…happy.  
She left the lights on, but she has no trouble falling asleep. They’re too dim to keep her awake, anyway.  
They used to be much brighter.

And her last waking thought is that tomorrow, she’ll get new lights.


End file.
